


pull me down and kiss me deeply

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Blindfolds, Body Worship, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Smut, Gags, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Alex gets tired of Michael's inability to keep his mouth shut and decides to take matters into his own hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is not for redistribution without my express permission.

Really, Michael brings these things upon himself, with the way he's always mouthing off, the way he can't take a compliment. Something had to be done eventually.

He tugs against the leather cuffs binding him to the headboard, twisting his wrists, biceps straining as he tests the restraints to their limit. Alex watches him all the while, waiting for him to exhaust himself, to surrender beautifully like he always does

"Are you finished?" Alex asks as Michael's struggling weakens and he lays back against the bed, pulse rocketing in his throat. At his mutinous nod, Alex continues, "Good. We both know you don't really need the cuffs--you know just how to follow orders and keep your hands to yourself, don't you? But you've been so good recently, I thought I'd make it a little easier for you. What do you say?"

Michael lets out a few garbled syllables around the gag between his teeth, and Alex generously takes that as a _thank you._

"Good boy."

Two little words, and Michael whines, his hips jerking off the bed, a little spot of wetness already beading through his loose-fitting sweats. He's so hard it must be painful, and Alex takes a moment to watch him: his broad, bare chest; the way his eyes are all dazed and glassy.

He mouths absentmindedly at the unfamiliar object holding his lips apart, and Alex could punish him for being a tease--he knows all too well how that talented mouth feels moving just like that around his cock, after all--but that's not what tonight is about.

"The cuffs might be a little gift for you," he says, "But the gag is all me. You've always got something to say, Guerin--mouth too smart for your own damn good. It's my turn to talk tonight."

"Mmmnnm."

"Oh, you can make all the noise you want--" Alex scrapes his fingernail across Michael's nipple, drawing out a muffled whine, "--but you won't be talking. No arguments; no deflections. Tonight, I'm going to remind you exactly what it is you do to me, and you're just going to lay there and take it."

Michael rattles the cuffs again in pitiful protest.

Alex clucks his tongue. "If you come away from this with bruises because you won't hold still, I'm just going to worship your hands and use something different next time. Silk, maybe. Would you like that? Feeling it trail against your skin? I could tie your hands straight above you and leave the tails long so they tease your chest every time you move your arms."

Counterpoint to his words, Alex drags all ten fingers from Michael's collarbone to his navel, and he _arches_ up like he's been struck by lightning, tendons standing out in his neck, muscles thrown into sharp relief. As he settles back down, he coughs and whimpers, drool starting to seep out from behind the gag. Alex drops a tiny kiss on his chin.

"You really are beautiful, you know." For his next target, Alex swipes his hands from the crease of Michael's underarms, across his ribs, to the vee of his hips, stopping just before the waistband of his sweats. "And since you can't argue, I guess you're just going to have to listen, hm?"

"From your hands--" Alex threads their fingers together and squeezes, mindful of Michael's injury--"to your shoulders--" He kneads the tense muscle there and feels it unknot under his touch--"to the way you wear your shirts like you're daring someone to strip them off of you--" He rakes through the thatch of hair on Michael's chest-- "Every single inch of you is fucking perfection."

Michael jerks his head from side to side, and Alex flicks his attention to his face. Michael's eyes squeeze shut and flutter open in a desperate rhythm. Thin tear tracks mark his cheeks to match the thin line of saliva at the corners of his mouth--he's a mess, his lips red, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and so dark against his soft, dazed eyes. It might be a little cruel, but this is maybe the most beautiful he's ever looked in Alex's eyes.

" _So_ good for me," Alex breathes. Michael hitches out another hiccuping sob and shakes his head again. "You don't get to make that decision. I'm calling the shots here, Guerin. What I say goes. Isn't that right?"

Just as desperate as his denials, Michael nods. He's shaking all over in fine, rolling shivers. The wet patch at the tip of his cock has only grown larger and wetter, his musk weighing down the air around the and making Alex's mouth water. Heat rolls off him in waves, too; he's a furnace and a beacon; he's like soaking all his aches in a warm bath.

 _Perfect_.

"You know one of my favorite things about you?"

For once, Michael doesn't protest, not with a grunt, not with a shake of his head or a jerk of his wrists. He just blinks up at Alex, another tear escaping his eye. A fierce roar erupts in Alex's chest; his pulse roars in his ears. He'd give this man anything. He'd tear him apart and build him back up again brand new.

"The way you fucking look at me. Fuck, the things you do to me, Guerin. _Michael_."

The sound of his name elicits another wracking sob, and Alex soothes him with soft noises and kisses to his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his tearstained cheeks.

"You've earned this, Michael. You're free to come whenever, okay?"

Alex slides down the length of Michael's body until he can mouth at Michael's still-covered cock, take in the heat and weight of it and the taste of salt at the tip. Michael bucks his hips helplessly, grinding against Alex's face, and Alex lets him, basks in every begging, aborted movement.

When Alex finally rolls his sweatpants down, Michael's cock is twitching and slick with his own pre, so close to coming a single finger might set him off. So Alex drags it out a little longer. He ducks lower to kiss his balls, to spread his cheeks and swipe his tongue over Michael's entrance, to hear his shouts and wordless pleas. Alex licks him there mercilessly, with broad strokes and stabbing lunges, until Michael is babbling and incoherent and breathing so hard he's in legitimate danger of hurting himself.

Then, Alex fixes his mouth around the head of Michael's cock and _sucks_ , hard, and Michael is off like a rocket, crying out his release.

Limp and satisfied, Michael collapses, his arms dangling bonelessly from the restraints.

He's beautiful like this, too, golden and a little broken and belonging _entirely_ to Alex.

Alex straddles his chest and strips his own cock quick and rough, until he's shooting across Michael's chest and throat and chin: claiming and marking him. Alex tries not to be the possessive type, but he won't deny it satisfies a deep and primal urge to see Michael wearing nothing but him on his skin.

Gently, oh-so-gently, Alex unclips his wrists from the restraints and rubs away any aches and pains as he folds his arms across his chest. The gag goes next, untied and tossed aside.

Alex leans in and kisses his slack mouth softly, a wordless thanks and an attempt to pour every ounce of love he's got directly into the source.

"I love you," he says it out loud, too, just in case there was any doubt.

Michael doesn't speak. He can't, after that, and Alex doesn't expect him to. But he tucks his face into the crook of Alex's neck and burrows in, and Alex understands every single word

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes good on a promise.

By nature, Alex is a planner. He accounts for every eventuality, as many consequences as he can foresee, everything thought of, everything in its place. Still, though, he finds that sometimes his best ideas come in the moment, and he considers it a feature of his pragmatism to let inspiration take its course.

Through the wonders of spontaneous inspiration, the next time Michael calls himself expendable, suggests that if something goes wrong he’s the logical choice to be left behind, sacrificed—

Well. Alex knows exactly what to do.

Still, it takes a little planning; if nothing else, he has to research hotels with canopy beds or similar frames, since the double bed he has in the cabin is hardly suited for what he wants to do. And it’s really almost a shame; silly as it sounds, Michael has made him appreciate what before was even less than a necessity, a place to shut his eyes for a few hours and white-knuckle his way through the least convenient of his body’s functional demands. But with Michael it feels…broken in. Lived in. Alex always sleeps on the side facing the door, and Michael loves being pressed between Alex and the wall, feeling held, feeling safe.

Ridiculously sentimental. But sentimental works right now, for what he’s got planned. For the lesson he’s planning to teach.

Michael is wearing the same pair of sweats as before, light gray, old and washed and worn until they turn soft. Behind the blindfold, he can’t see Alex smile at him, so Alex has to use other means to let him know how _hungry_ this look makes him. How close he comes to wanting to lose control when Michael is like this. Vulnerable. Willing. At Alex’s mercy. He’s naked from the waist up, skin almost glowing in the lamplight, and he’s half-hard already, from everything Alex has promised him, from all he’s imagining in that brilliant head of his.

Alex chose the ties specifically, ribbons of dark red silk, studied knots to cradle his wrists, not restrict them, that could bear the weight of his arms so he didn’t have to do any work at all. The tails of the silk are just long enough to brush his chest, cool and soft. His nipples are peaked, his skin over-sensitive everywhere they’ve touched and everywhere they touch next. Alex drags a nail along that path to make him squirm and whine, make the silk sway even more.

“You look incredible like this,” Alex says, voice low and intimate, leaning in close so he can see the path of goosebumps on Michael’s skin. “You know, I packed these pants for you on purpose. They look,” he licks his lips, “Well. Words don’t really do the trick.”

Slowly, not applying any pressure, he slides his hand down to cup Michael through the fabric. Feel the heat of him. How he thickens, hardens under Alex’s deliberate touch. How his stomach quivers just above Alex’s hand. Michael rolls his hips up, and Alex moves with him, never letting him get any friction, making sure the warmth of his hand is a constant, seeping through the cotton to Michael’s skin.

“Say something, Michael. I want to hear you.”

Alex presses his thumb against Michael’s bottom lip, and Michael’s tongue flicks against it, tasting him, and Alex has to move his hand away, rest it against his cheek instead, so Michael will actually respond to him instead of trying to suck him into his mouth.

“Alex _,_ ” he gasps, leaning, pushing into that touch, his head in Alex’s hands. Alex rewards him with a kiss on his forehead.

“That all you have to say?” He teases. He pulls his hand away, and Michael’s head lolls onto his shoulder, a little sigh escaping his mouth. Sitting back, Alex tugs Michael’s legs to either side of him, until Michael’s ass rests on his thighs, groin almost to his stomach, tilted up for easy access. The motion pulls at Michael’s arms, and the silk rides up in turn, dangling between his pecs now.

“ _Alex,”_ Michael says again, a whine behind his voice this time, a plea.

“That’s right. I’m right here.”

Michael’s only response is a moan then, as Alex settles his fingers along the spaces between his ribs and the lines of the muscles there,

“How are your hands?” Alex asks.

“They’re—fine.” He twists his wrists in their binding, sending waves through the silk, making it _drag_ little circles over his chest, and he cries out—arches—stills—then he’s taken by a final, slightest shiver.

Alex waits, smug and sated by the feast he makes all spread out for him, until the aftershocks are over.

“Good.”

And he takes the moment to pinch Michael’s nipples, hard enough to be called cruel, hard enough to make Michael arch and twist his back off the bed with a panting whimper, and Alex releases him, soothing the sting and ache with rolling, rubbing motions, with fingers wrapped in silk. Michael sighs, then, and relaxes, letting Alex and the way Alex has bound him hold all his weight again.

Every gorgeous sound out of that generous mouth—Alex loves him, loves every part of him, with a fierceness that has as many facets as any precious gem. This is his favorite way to put that fierceness to work: showing him how much.

Running his hands up the outside of Michael’s spread thighs, Alex tries to find the words. Because with the blindfold on—well. Alex has challenged himself every bit as he challenges Michael. To speak instead of trusting Michael to read love on his face, in his hands.

But how is he supposed to say it? Out loud? Isn’t action better, realer, longer lasting?

Still, he has to try.

“I love you,” he begins, with his fingers on Michael’s waistband. “I love you more than anything else. You’re it for me, and I think you know that now. I hope you do.”

Michael swallows. “I do. I know you do. And I know you know—but.”

“No buts.”

Alex tugs on his sweatpants until they’re barely holding on, barely covering him at all, all of Michael’s chest, stomach, hips bared. He really did pick these pants out for a reason. They love Michael almost as much as Alex does, hanging just right, molding to his skin in the right places, comfortable, easy. Thin enough to show in adoring relief the depth of his desperation when he’s hard and aching and leaking for Alex’s touch.

“No buts,” Alex repeats. Michael’s knees clench reflexively around Alex’s waist. Trying to hold onto him. “Because there is no disclaimer, no qualifying statement. I love you. It doesn’t need an explanation or an excuse. And me loving you? It means you will never be expendable to me. You will never be lesser. An acceptable sacrifice. _Never._ ”

Alex leans closer, even though Michael can’t see him. He can _feel_ him, though. Feel the brush of Alex’s abdomen across his cock, the first real pressure Alex has given him all night. Arch up into it, rub himself up, Alex lets him. Positive reinforcement.

“This?” He drags the silk from sternum to groin and Michael shudders. He reaches up to touch Michael’s face, skim his fingers along the blindfold’s edge, and Michael turns to kiss his wrist.

“This is a lesson, just like it was last time. Talk shit about yourself, and I’m going to do the talking. Make it clear you don’t see yourself like I do? You have to trust the way I see you.”

Michael laughs, a nervous little thing, and Alex laughs along with him. Grateful for the tension to break, because. It doesn’t really need to be there. Their love, it _can_ be a light thing, but sometimes it feels so heavy, like the stars are heavy. Cosmic.

“I dunno, I _was_ top of the class…what’re you going to do if I choose not to do the assignments? Sir?”

He probably tries to flutter his eyelashes under the black fabric over his eyes. He winds his legs around Alex’s waist for leverage and rocks his hips again, more insistently, frotting his clothed cock against Alex’s stomach.

Alex grins, presses his hand broad and flat against Michael’s lower back, holding him there. “Stop it. Just because I called it a lesson doesn’t mean you’re getting homework. Trust me, you’re going to enjoy—”

“Hey, homework can be fun.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

When Alex moves to the side to kiss his neck, their chests press together, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and Michael whimpers a little at the tiniest scrape of chest hair between them, as sensitive as his skin is from the constant motion of the silk. Alex soaks in the heat of him while he strokes his tongue up one of the tendons there. Feels Michael swallow under his lips.

“I love you too,” Michael whispers. Alex closes his eyes and rests while the words sink beneath his skin and find a home there.

“I know.”

Alex sits up. Michael has been left waiting long enough—he hisses when Alex grips his cock, rubs it through the soft cotton, thumb making little rolling strokes over the head until the fabric goes damp, heavy and heavy-smelling in the air. Michael lets his mouth fall open as he breathes, deep, stuttering on the exhale, hips rolling minutely into Alex’s touch.

“ _Aah! Ah—ahh—”_

Michael cries out; Alex positions him, shifts him, until he can _lick_ him through the fabric, worn and warm enough to feel him _throb_ in response, and, laughing, Alex strips him then, so he can see the result with his own eyes. He kisses him at the top of his thigh, then pulls back to say,

“You’re so hard. So sensitive—you’ll be even more sensitive next time. I’ll keep you for _hours._ I’ll use the silk to stroke you, and you won’t come until you’re fucking the air you’re so desperate for anything. But for right now—”

Grasping the base of his cock, then, Alex dives in and swallows him down, wet and hot, swallowing the blurt of bitterness that crosses his tongue, makes his mouth water; he’s heavy and full on Alex’s tongue when he uses it to rub at the vein, massaging, stroking.

“Fuck! F-fuck, Alex, Alex, _Alex—”_

Alex sucks him down ‘til his mouth meets his hand, then back up, laving his tongue against every inch of him, and Michael _moans,_ loud and long, being so good and keeping his hips so still, even when his thighs twitch with the pleasure, even when he cries at Alex’s other hand raking his chest, leaving thin white lines everywhere his skin has been sensitized. His heel digs wildly right beside Alex’s spine, back of his knee draped securely over Alex’s shoulder, giving Alex plenty of room to work. And work he does, kissing and sucking and stroking until he’s _swallowing_ Michael down, everything he has to give, salty and hot on the back of his throat, humming the pleasure Michael’s wailing to the ceiling.

Pulling off, Alex swallows the last, and he rises up to untie Michael, letting him down slowly, rubbing his hands and wrists as Michael flexes them, whipping off the blindfold next.

_Seeing_ him, eyes glassy and adoring, Alex has to—he needs—

Alex straddles his thigh, _uses_ him, seizes him and hugs him firmly to his chest, curls in his fist, until he comes in thick stripes across Michael’s stomach, claiming him all over again. By the end they’re both panting, chests rapidly rising and falling into one another.

Michael burrows in, arms coming up, hugging Alex back. “Tired,” he grunts, and Alex nods, chin bumping his head.

Gentling the fingers in Michael’s hair, petting him, he says, “Sleep. We have the room tomorrow too. Thought we’d enjoy it even after we’d gotten our use out of the bedframe.”

“Oh, I think we could come up with a few more uses…”

“You do have an awfully active imagination.”

“ _I_ do? What about you? One of these days your _imagination_ is going to make me come so hard my brain—”

He yelps as Alex pinches his ear, and they descend into giggles, ducked against each other because they can’t hardly look each other in the eye without starting to laugh all over again. Michael pulls the covers up and over them, but they don’t sleep yet, just holding each other in the space they’ve made for each other, safe, protected, sacred.

**Author's Note:**

> surprise! it's more porn.


End file.
